Lumos & Nox
by Traveller Tonight
Summary: December, 1926. A wretched woman walks down a path of no return, hoping against hope to claw back what she was shorn of; she has just opened Pandora's box . . . April, 1977. A young witch is involved in a minor run-in with a pure-blood scion and unknowingly draws the attention of the last person she would ever wish to cross. Tom Riddle x OC Alternative Universe
1. Introduction

**Dearest reader,**

 **Thanks for reading this, since Introduction is the part most of readers choose to skip (only to go back regretfully, he he he).**

 **As if was not already overwhelmed with countless Tom Riddle fanfictions, I had the wonderful idea to contribute with my own story (yeah, surprise!).**

 **NOTE #1:** This is an alternative universe, which means that there are a lot of major alterations, especially as to timelines. Still, I am disturbingly obsessed with canon, thus a lot of things are kept as they were in the books (at least, most of them).

 **NOTE #2:** Since we are talking about an alternative universe, a lot of things must be clarified. However, instead of bombarding the reader with heaps of information regarding the OCs and the alterations made in the first chapter, I went for the "Show don't tell" method. Excruciatingly slow... So, in case something confuses you or it's not made clear right away, please be patient; very likely, your queries will be answered in time, as the plot unravels.

 **NOTE #3:** I believe myself very open to opinions and comments and should you detect mistakes as to grammar, syntax, typos, canon info or else, please feel free to point it out. Your help is priceless. Yet, unkind, hateful or offensive comments are unacceptable and they will be reported.

 **NOTE #4:** No regular/slow updates. Life's a b*tch and a hungry time and inspiration-consumer, thus it's rather impossible to keep a steady update schedule.

 **P.S. English is not my native language and this is my first attempt to write a fanfiction, so please be tolerant with my mistakes; I always try to be careful and edit my texts thoroughly.**

 **WARNING:** Use of offensive language. Clichés are also present *bend down head sheepishly*, but I reckon they'are limited. I guess it's needless to say this, but I hope this fanfic will not be viewed as the hackneyed story of _bad-boy-meets-good-girl_ etc. because I've tried  so so so hard to keep my story away from this sort of storyline. I like to think of it as a story of personal growth and trial and tribulations and... Okay, I quit my ramble now.

 **Disclaimer:**

 _ **⌮ The universe, characters, some snippets and dialogues belong to worderful J. K. Rowling and the Warner Bros. Pictures.**_ _ **I own nothing but my OCs and plot.**_

 _ **⌮ Multiple POVs**_

 _ **⌮ Alternative Universe - Timeline ahead,**_ _ **read on your own responsibility**_

 **(** **Hopefully) Enjoy,**

 **Leta**

* * *

 ** _Started:_** 31/5/2017

 ** _Completed:_** —

 **#alternativeuniverse #beauxbatons #gellertgrindelwald #themarauders #timetravel #timeturner #tomriddle #wizardingwar**


	2. Epigraph

**「** **Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires.** **」**

 _Macbeth, W. Shakespeare_


	3. Prologue: An elegy of the past

❝ **You can't repeat the past.** ❞

The Great Gatsby

F. Scott Fitzgerald

* * *

 **Late December, 1926**

 **Knockturn Alley**

The end of December 1926 had nearly dawned in a backbone-sweeping cold and found Central London blanketed by a welcoming dusting of sparkling snow, after weeks of roaring blizzards. The wintry weather prompted people, magical and non-magical alike, to restrict the festive spirit within the boundaries of their household's warmth and safety. Roughly past three in the morning, no sane soul would ever consider to dare the bleak night.

Yet, there she was, a young, heavily pregnant woman in rags roaming in the poorly lit streets of a place one would wish least to find themselves in a night like this. Despite her stay in this area of magical London for the past few months, Knockturn Alley had never appeared more hostile to her than it did that particular night.

The muddy crust of snow that carpeted the cobblestone streets was crackling under her tread, drenching her worn footwear. The air, though as icy as everywhere, weighed heavier and stickier here, a whiff of rot burning her nostrils. And that darkness, dense and fraught with unseen dangers, ever-present...

But there was no time to dwell on it, no time to hesitate.

The witch blundered past painfully familiar, repulsive window displays and dodgy-looking pubs in short panicky steps, glancing over her shoulder every so often. South-eastward she was heading, resolved to exit this area and its misery once and for all that night.

Violent gusts of glacial wind whipped her face and penetrated her emaciated body through her flimsy cloak. But she braved on, her shallow breath rising in short wisps of vapour before her face in the snowfall and all her senses tensed for the merest grain of menacing sound or movement.

Her main concern laid on the tiny hourglass resting wrapped in a sweaty palm, as the witch stubbornly refused to let it go once she had obtained it.

A shudder coursed through her body, still deeply shaken of how narrow her escape with the priceless item had been. Still, there was no escape for other horrors that plagued her...

 _You dirty Squib!_

 _You useless sack of muck!_

Words sharp as blades, shouted more often than her own name rang clearly in her ears, mental stabs slashing through her body, right down the marrow, as though her tormentors were present, as vicious and haunting as ever.

A sob escaped her lips, subdued and utterly desperate. Her knees, burdened to support a malnourished body along with the weight of a baby, threatened to buckle anytime. Drained from the strenuous effort to last through this ordeal, the witch ceased her pacing and leaned onto the mossy wall of a ramshackle building, fighting down the choking lump in her throat.

Salvation was finally within her grasp, she urged herself.

 _You pointless lump!_

 _... 'Darling', he called her. So he wouldn't have you anyway..._

 _...You filthy little blood traitor!_

The witch gave a curt twitch.

It would do her no good to reflect on that right now, as more pressing matters called for her attention. Peeking over her shoulder once more, she drew a shuddering breath, then carried on her way.

Before long, her now staggering steps happened to lead her right down the main street of Knockturn Alley. Here, the lampposts were shimmering faintly, less forbiddingly even. Her heart hammered against her ribs as the clear, welcoming glow springing from Diagon Alley greeted her eyes.

At last, at long last, she was almost there...

Her bony hand brushed over her round abdomen as awareness leapt out at her. Her baby, though she was only days from delivery, had been abnormally still that night. Neither kicking, no wriggling within her... Fear creapt on her stealthily. Could it be...? Then all of a sudden came a spirited kick from inside to startle her pleasantly.

Relief rippled over her like a wave of warm water and a mixture of sniff and laughter passed her purplish, chapped lips.

Relief...

Laughter...

Emotions and actions long forgotten... Or had she ever felt anything close to relief in her short life? And had she laughed with her heart before...?

Both her hands caressed her belly tenderly.

 _Hold on, my little one. This will end soon..._

Armed with a surge of renewed courage and determination she hadn't felt for months, no, for years on end, the witch stepped up her pace while her other hand tightened around the hourglass hanging from her neck.

It was scarcely a five-minute walk until the exit to the Diagon Alley, and another ten minutes to the Leaky Cauldron...

"YOU BLEEDING HARLOT!"

A scarlet flash of light illuminated the obscure street for a second and then there was a thundering bang. Next moment, the clashing sound of shattering stones boomed into the streets and alleys all about, united with the witch's cry of terror.

Her head twisted around and her breath froze in her lungs, as the caster of the curse materialised from within the darkness; a lantern-jawed wizard wrapped in a dark cloak, wand aloft and his shifty eyes glazing with fury.

"Thought you could just make a run for it?" His rasp growl spread gooseflesh over her skin and the witch found herself riveted on her spot. "YOU SHOULD HAVE LOOKED BEFORE YOU LEAPT, MISSY!" He roared before he released another Stunner.

The witch gasped and forcibly back to her senses, attempted to dodge the attack, but then slipped and flopped onto the muddy snow; the curse missed her again by the skin of her teeth ― the wizard screamed in rage ―, and crashed onto the display of Mulpepper's Apothecary. The clash of breaking glass resonated magnified down the empty streets, deafening her, and hundreds of shattered shards showered the street, while the shop front burst into flames.

One would expect that the racket would prompt the residents to rush out of their houses. But dark times were looming over the wizarding world, for Gellert Grindelwald, a powerful foreign Dark wizard, had brought chaos and fear in Europe. His attacks had caused an uproar and the sensationalism of the wizarding press around the world spread panic with dramatic headlines, grotesque photographs and lurid details of the destruction he had inflicted wherever he passed. And though he had vanished for the best part of the past few months, the sensation of uncertainty and threat still hung over the wizarding community.

The witch would swear that through her short gasps, doors creaking open and windows unlocking reached her pounding ears, but there was no movement in the street. No one would bear the risk and exit their safety to just quench their curiosity. The wizards and witches here were used in this sort of commotion and knew better than meddle in affairs other than theirs.

Her heart plummeted down her stomach at the realization that no one was coming to her rescue. The inquisitive gazes peering through doors and windows opened just a fraction were almost palpable on her skin. Still, their owners were to remain holed up in their rickety houses, sheltered from foreign troubles.

And as she sank in the muddy puddle, the snow soaking her ragged robes and her hip burning with searing pain from her fall, her thoughts flew away, to a beloved figure of raven hair and fair skin, to pale long-fingered hands which used to stroke her face and roam her body lovingly.

A warm greeting from the past, a past of seemingly endless joy and euphoria...

A past she yearned to repeat...

As if in a dream, it faintly dawned at her what was still resting in her hand. Her grip loosened and the tiny hourglass glistened anew in the light of the flames scorching the shop behind her. Her eyes, blurred with exhaustion and defeat, darted to the advancing wizard, his mouth a firm line and his wand still aloft, ready to curse her once more.

Her bony fingers moved mechanically and without even the slightest reflection, they began to spin the hourglass. The witch spun it and spun it, and each spinning grew more frantic and desperate than the last.

The wizard was just a stone's throw from her and the witch, with her heart in her throat, crept backwards until she hit the wall behind her, its stony edges cold and hard down her back. The man waved his wand again, his face lined hard with resolve.

And then time froze in the falling snowflakes, in the swishing icy air cutting down their faces, in their bated breaths crashing against the cold. Their eyes met for the most fleeting split second. And as another jet of light ignited from the wizard's wandtip, everything around them began to twist and dissolve in a blur of colours and shapes, and the next moment, the witch was swallowed by nothingness.

* * *

 **Late June, 1960**

 **Hogsmeade**

It was only early in the morning and the sun was already blazing like a fiery ball above Hogsmeade. Heat was licking the scorching ground and permeated a sultry haze in the air, laced with the melodic buzz of cicadas. Stillness lingered on every smouldering surface, not a breath of breeze to sooth the stifling ambience, not a wisp of cloud to veil the relentless sunlight.

It was the shrill creak of long-rusted hinges echoing from the outskirts of the village that punctuated for seconds the lazy lull.

Concealed amidst lush vegetation, settled a small cottage house with an air of neglect emitting faintly off its peeling wooden shutters and mossy walls, could hardly be discerned.

Its back door swung ajar and out marched a thin witch with dark hair and a hunched posture dressed in shabby robes and with thick gloves of dragon hide on her hands. Her slightly twitchy steps lead her towards the pitiful excuse of a greenhouse that stood at the back yard of the cottage, a wooden toolbox floating right behind her.

Tiny and crammed with various magical plants (many of them qualified as highly dangerous or deemed illegal to cultivate), there was permanent dirt and ivy twisting and rumbling over its stripped mucky windows, sealing the place from sunlight and reflecting the misery that seemed to enwrap the witch's life.

A Venomous Tentacula, set at the right side of the entrance, stirred sluggishly the moment she swept in and attempted to entangle its deadly vines through her lank, oily hair. The witch smacked it away swiftly and headed for a long trestle bench loaded with pots of several sizes and plants, most of them swaying their stems peacefully.

The toolbox came to rest onto a stool close to the bench, while the witch examined carefully each one of her plants, her thick dark eyebrows laced together.

Elbow grease lay ahead, as the witch only had until early noon to extract Tentacula's juice and seeds, Snargaluff pods and freshly-cut Mandrakes and deliver all the ingredients, before retrieving her toddlers from the overly nice landlord of The Three Broomsticks.

A huff escaped her thin mouth, forceful and bitter. There was no peace for the wicked. She had succumbed to the urges of loneliness and the price was hers to bear.

 _Just my luck_ , she pondered reproachfully, as she snatched a pair of earmuffs out of the toolbox and pressed them over her ears. _But of course, it never rains but it pours._

Grunting, she swivelled to the pots with the Mandrakes. She would just as soon do the dirty work first and repot the young Mandrakes, so she could blow off some steam fighting with the Tentacula and the Snargaluff later on.

"Now, the seedlings on the left and the mature on the right", she muttered distractedly to herself and dragged a pot from her right in front of her.

 _Breaking my back day and night like a house-elf..._

She clutched the tip of the Mandrake and she sensed it squirm in its pot.

 _But that's my hard luck, right?_ She ground her teeth audibly and with one move, she hauled the Mandrake. _And why should it be different? Poor Eileen, why should she —_

It happened in a matter of seconds, as all tragedies usually occur.

A high-pitched screech exploded in the greenhouse, cracking the glass and piercing the witch's eardrums through the muffles. She went instantly limp, the furiously screeching Mandrake slid off her hand and life had already abandoned her body when she collapsed heavily on the greenhouse floor.

* * *

The chime of the church bells pealed out dolefully above the village's graveyard, scaring away a flock of birds which had found shelter from the searing heat in the cypresses around.

Two old men with expressions suitable for a woeful occasion exited the resting place and strolled down the High Street of the wizarding village in defiance of the angry sun beating down on their heads.

Despite the sweltering weather they both wore long cloaks, and if someone got a closer look, they even looked vaguely similar in appearance, yet strikingly unalike, as two siblings normally do. Though both tall, thin and bespectacled, an aura of calm, yet tangible might emanated in gentle waves from the older-looking wizard. Dressed in brilliant silvery grey robes, he ambled sprightly and upright, hands clasped behind his back. Behind his shining half-moon spectacles, perched on a very crooked nose, his bright blue gaze swanned along the row of picturesque shops with an expression of serene interest.

Then again, the other wizard flanked him with rather heavier steps and significantly less elegant motions. His long, stringy hair and beard paled in comparison with his older brother's well-groomed silvery mane, while his scruffy apparel and gruffy wrinkled face gave him the overall appearance of a goat.

"Are they off?" The curmudgeonly wizard was first to speak and a particle of concern strove to hide beneath the thick layers of his rough voice.

The older one nodded gently. "They're both with Honoria as we speak."

"They must get well-protected, Albus," urged the other wizard. "If _he_ gets wind of —"

"And well-protected they will be, Aberforth. Rest assured," came the benign reply.

"Good," grunted Aberforth and both fell silent again.

Past the deserted village station they walked and towards the boundaries of the village. They took a rough mud lane which meandered its way upwards, with faint tracks of carriages etched lengthwise. Lined trees peaked overhead, their overhanging thick branches casting a veil of soothing shadows over their faces, and at the long end, a pair of wrought iron gates could be discerned. Behind them a vast, magnificent castle of many turrets and towers emerged; perched on top of a mountain and reflected on the glimmering surface of the lake stretching beneath it.

"The girl must be christened soon," said quietly Aberforth after a while as they tramped their way up to the iron gates. "You agreed to be her godfather —"

"I am delighted to inform you that my memory remains as excellent as ever," Albus offered a sad smile, his gaze still set ahead to the castle beckoning to them from afar.

Aberforth ground his teeth audibly.

"Just so you're aware, I have already settled to a name," uttered Albus in a significant tone and turned to meet his brother's face above his half-moon spectacles.

Aberforth's eyes narrowed for an instant, then jerked open, his wrinkled face rather aghast and his lips parted in sudden anger.

"You better _not_ intend to name her after — "

"Of course _not_ , Aberforth," interjected Albus smoothly, unfazed by his brother's baleful tone. "The girl and her brother already suffered a terrible bereavement. It would be most uncalled-for to burden them further with long past tragedies," he continued more flatly and Aberforth graced him with a very dark glare.

His lips parted again, in all likelihood to counter him, but then thought better of it and remained silent.

"I reckon that _Aurelia Dumbledore_ is fine-sounding, don't you think?" Albus said airily, looking quite pleased with himself, and spun to Aberforth in anticipation.

Aberforth scoffed grouchily. "You and your _fancy_ ideas."

Albus let out a pleasant chuckle. "You can still have a say at the name's choice," he pointed out, his blue eyes twinkling impishly and his silver mustache quivering with a secret smirk. "She is your _child_ , after all," he glanced sidelong at his brother, whose wrinkled face brightened with a brilliant pink shade.

"Did she leave a mess behind, _that_ woman..." Aberforth growled, avoiding Albus's eyes along with his comment. " _No name, no registration..."_ He attempted to direct the conversation clear of those "dangerous" waters, but soon enough he realised that the infuriatingly placid blue stare meant not to leave him in peace until he gave a reply. "Oh, go on then," he threw up his hands impatiently. "So be it."

They had finally reached the iron gates, which moaned open for the Headmaster of Hogwarts to enter.

Albus fully spun to his brother, the mischievous smirk still lining up the corners of his mustache.

" _Aurelia Dumbledore_ it is, then."

 **~ End of Chapter ~**

* * *

 _ **Α/N**_

 _ **Hello again and thank you** **so much** **for reading the prologue!**_

 _ **So... What do you think?**_ _ ** _ **I guess you can figure out who the two witches are?**_ And how do you find the Dumbledore brothers portrayal? I'd love to hear your feedback!**_

 _ **Please, remember to leave a review and follow/favorite me and my story if you're truly down for it! It's just a few taps on your phone/tablet/computer and so darn important for us the writers!**_

 _ **Also, I am in desperate need of a native English beta reader, preferably (but not necessarily) British or familiar with British English (no offence meant to other English speakers, just a small quirk of mine!), so if anyone is available and prepared to commit, send me a private message!**_

 _ **[Friendly reminder: Constructive criticism is more than welcome, but rude, pointless and distasteful comments are not and they will be reported along with the user.]**_

 _ **Again, thanks for reading!**_

 _ **Leta**_


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